It is terrifying to send my words out into the world unaccompanied and unguarded to be read or ignored, embraced or rejected, inhaled or impaled. There is an ominous silence following their releases, as I wait in the vacuum of empty time for anyone to respond. Did my words make someone ponder or wonder, yearn or crave? Perhaps they will ignite a renaissance in someone’s soul or inspire them to live on the loose. Or perhaps the echoing silence reflects disdain from someone who only glanced at the words and moved on.
My writing bears my inner life for public examination, leaving me standing naked, cradling my shimmering words, hoping that they shine in someone’s heart. I rejoice over each short response, each encouraging phrase or note of gratitude, though I wonder why there is so much silence, and at times rejection.
Does my honesty intimidate the hearts of others, challenging them to explore their deepest, hidden secrets? Or, as I have often found, do they want to pull me back to the safety of those who hoard their rough drafts, jealous of those who brazenly find their voice. Are they intent on fencing me into their storyline, challenging my dangerous style Or perhaps my words gently seduce each reader into their own mysterious place of knowing, a place that defies reply.